Sunday Walkers in Early Spring

The clatter of Sunday walkers’

Boots and walking sticks echoes loud

As they pass through the yawning village

Until it is swallowed

By early morning mist and cloud

In the hedgerows

Daffodils stand proud

A smear of buttery sunshine

But an edge of something lingers

A taste of frost

The smell of undergrowth

Numbness in toes and fingers

A reminder that winter

Is only just




© Kim M. Russell, 2016